


You Are Not Her

by Leaving_A_Comment



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Child Neglect, F/M, General just Sad Carolina, No one asked for this but I still delivered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaving_A_Comment/pseuds/Leaving_A_Comment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You remember her laugh most of all, and his smile as you did something to make them proud. You remember growing up and it all changing and everything you had to do to get to where you are. And now that you are here, standing in front of him you suddenly have to ask yourself; Why are you here?</p><p>Carolina's life showed through a series of snapshots about growing up, letting go, and learning to say Goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Not Her

You are about three years old when you have your first, tangible memory. It is a small one, just two smiling faces looking down at you as you are swung between them. The sun filters through your mother’s hair, giving her a glowing halo (the irony of this imagery will be lost on you for years) and an ethereal look that you will cherish forever.

Your father’s smile will be what you remember of him; not the cruel, sarcastic one that will come in years fueled by despair, but his large toothy one that he solely reserves for you and your mother. This is your first real memory and you lock it away and keep it close in your mind because it reminds you of everything you could have had, everything that could have been if things had gone differently, but didn’t.

This is the memory you will replay in your head over and over again until it becomes a memory of a memory of a memory. It will be frayed at the edges and as years pass you will forget or confuse certain details (was your mother wearing a black shirt or a blue one? Was it warm or unseasonably cold?) but it will never be far from your mind. You keep it cause it pushes you forward, fuels you through your life and you need it, you need to have something to remind you why you are one this quest.

 

.::~::.

 

You are nine years old when she leaves. She brushes your bangs from your forehead and plants a kiss between your brows. She carefully wipes your eyes and whispers that you shouldn’t cry, that Church girls are stronger than that. You nod quickly while rubbing your fists into your eyes. She gently pets your hair down- your wild strawberry blonde hair- in a phantom motion that will haunt you for the rest of your life; the one you feel on the darkest and coldest nights when you haven’t seen or spoken to another human being in weeks.

She gives you one last smile as she stands up straight and gives you a two finger salute that you return with a straight back and your heels together, just like she taught you. You will remember how she smiled at you then, with nothing but love and adoration in her eyes. She turns to your father and kisses him one last time and murmurs something about goodbyes that you will carry to the grave.

She gives a small wave from the open back of the Pelican, and says in a clear voice “I’ll see you later” and your heart freezes in your chest. As she turns around and the plane takes off you have the sudden feeling- no, knowledge- that you will never see her again and you run after her.

You sprint, calling for your mother with your small hands lifted up like you could stop the aircraft with only your own will power. Your father stoops you up mid run and asks you stop yelling. He mutters that Church girls are stronger than that as he wets your scalp with his tears and you just want to scream.

 

.::~::.

 

You are eleven years old when you get the news. You answer the door in your pajamas because it is the weekend and your father as not yet insisted that you stop watching Saturday morning cartoons. There are two people at the door, a man and a woman, who look at you sadly as they ask if your father is home.

You ask why and they just keep insisting that you go get him. That’s how he finds you, screaming in the face of an UNSC soldier as you beat at his chest demanding to know why as the female soldier tries to pull you off of him. You are half sent, half storm to your room because you don’t need to know what they have to say; you could read it on their faces.

You sit in your room, oscillating between screaming and punching into your mattress as you wait for the black sedan to pull away from your house. It is several hours later before it does, followed closely by the screams of your father for them to leave. You are sitting at your window, glaring as the soldiers leave. The female one gives one last, sad glance to your window, making eye contact. Even from this distance you can see the look of pity on her eyes as she slips something into your mail box and the car pulls away.

You stay in your room for the rest of the weekend, not moving, not eating or talking to anyone. Your father comes to bring you a sloppily made sandwich, insisting you eat as you ignore him. He could have gotten mad, and later you will think that the man he becomes would have, but now he just sighs sadly and sits on the edge of your bed, stroking your hair in an all too familiar way. That is what finally sets you off, you start to cry.

You curl up into his lap and he just holds you close as you sob into his shoulder and he into your hair as you both mourn the loss of something you will never get back. You fall asleep that way, curled up on your tiny twin mattress. You're so tried and dehydrated that it takes all your strength to sneak out of bed without waking him and onto your front lawn.

You open the mailbox and inside is a pair of dog tags with the address of your house on the base engraved in one and the remnants of a name on the other.  They are black and scared but you can clearly see the imprint of _Allis- Chr-_ on one side and you discover that you do still have some tears left in you. You collapse to the sidewalk sobbing before finally picking yourself back up and returning to bed. It is the last time you cry for a very long time.

You don’t even cry at the funeral. There wasn’t a body left to bury. They said they couldn’t recover it but the way your father clinches his fists and refuses to speak to anyone makes you realize they just didn’t want to spend the money on bringing Her home. The service is long and drawn out and by the end you are more tired than sad. Tired of shaking hands and receiving hugs from people you hardly know. Distant relatives from Earth you’ve never known keep pinching your cheeks and talking about how glad they are to have finally meet you but if only it had been in happier circumstances.

The names and faces blur together as the only thing you really remember about the funeral is the sound of the guns going off and how tightly you hold your father’s hand. They lower an empty casket into the ground because _presentation is_ _everything_. You can hear your father grind his teeth as you hold your head high because you are too strong to cry.

 .::~::.

 

You are almost thirteen before you realize that something has changed. People have stopped whispering behind your back, stopped talking in hushed voices about how sad is was that She had died so close to the end of Her tour. But you know it wouldn’t have mattered. She had never stayed long anyways, always seemed to have somewhere more important to be.

They still mutter how much you look like Her though, with your light hair and sharp cheekbones. And they still tell you to your face how sorry they are but at least She died a hero. But you know that doesn’t really matter either, not in the end.

You begin to hate your hair and one day you walk up to your father and ask if he can get you some hair dye the next time they bring supplies into the base.

He doesn’t look up from his computer screen as he asks why, which isn’t that unusual these days. But the way he whips around and screams for you to not say Her name when you tell him why, is. You cower away, truly afraid for the first time in your life and he breaks.

The fury in his green eyes- the ones you share- dissolves in an instant and he quickly apologizes and turns back to his work, rubbing his tired eyes with a frail hand.

You leave his office quietly and do not breach the subject again.

.::~::.

 

You are fifteen when the distance between you and your father makes living with him unbearable.

You spend most nights at various friends’ houses and the few times you are home end up in screaming matches that the neighbors two doors down can hear. It gets to the point that the UNSC officials become worried about your living conditions and wonder if maybe a military base is not the best place for a teenage girl to grow up. They send for your aunt.

At least that is what they call her. You vaguely remember seeing someone similar to her at your mother’s funeral all those years ago, but you can’t place the name to her face. But she turns on your father with fire in her brown eyes- the very ones that remind you so much of Her- you can see the resemblance.

You will never forget how she screamed at him, with her hands on her hips and fingers in his face as she demands to know how you were allowed to skip school for a week without ever reporting to anyone that you were missing. You tried to interject that you had just gone on a camping trip, but she will hear none of it as she demands answers from your father.

You finally sneak off to your room, closing your eyes and listening to the muffled yelling, pretending for a minute that she is back and alive and fine. That you have gone back to the good ole days.

You are awoken just before dawn by a small knock on your door. Your aunt enters and asks you to start packing up. You ask her why and she answers because you are going to come live with her for a while and you just nod numbly.

You don’t pack much, a few clothes and pictures, because you haven't been a sentimental person in years. You do make sure to retrieve your mother’s dog tags from under your mattress though. They are hidden for fear that your father would throw them out in a fit of rage, and you place them around your neck. You aunt watches from the doorway as they clink together while you slipthem into your shirt, but says nothing.

You take one last look over your shoulder at your childhood bedroom and have a feeling that you will never set foot in this house again. You father is not home when you leave, having already gone to work at that point so you can’t even say goodbye if you wanted to.

It will be years before you see to him again.

 

You are with your aunt for weeks before you start speaking again.

She fills the silence with stories of Texas, a state that was larger than life and of two little girls who would lay on rooftops and stargaze. They would talk for hours about traveling to the stars themselves one day and exploring the galaxy.

You are sitting at her tiny kitchen table on a distant moon when you ask her if you look like She did when She was your age. She is quiet for a long moment, then she reaches her hand out and brushes your long bangs out of your face and answers only with the hair. You ask if you can dye it and she gives you one of the widest smiles you’ve been given in a long time and that very night she buys a box of the brightest shade of red you have ever seen and you love it.

 

.::~::.

 

You are eighteen the first time you accidentally call her mom.

You guys are just sitting on the couch, a dumb movie playing in the background as you talk about school and people you may or may not have a crush on. You immediately stand up and run to your room after you say it. She appears a few minutes later, asking if you are okay. She comes in anyways and sits on the edge of your bed and you flashback and for a minute. You are a little girl laying in your bed as your father brings you a sandwich.

You ask her to leave before she has a chance to brush your hair and she freezes with her hand hovering over you. She pulls it back quickly and leans over and kisses your temple before she leaves, reminding you that it is alright. The next morning when you finally leave your room, lured out by the smell of waffles, she is sitting at the table like nothing had happened and you appreciate that.

It takes another year before it no longer upsets you when you accidentally slip up.

You remember it is her standing in the audience as you get your diploma, how she is all smiles and tears as you shake the president’s hand and how she is so proud for graduating college at nineteen because you are so smart and you will do so much. For a while you are happy and you even consider becoming a doctor to help people when war comes to looking for you.

The outpost on your new planet wasn’t even that big, but when the aliens show up and start shooting civilians and they play the footage on the nightly news for weeks on end you know what you have to do.

You are almost twenty when she hugs you and calls you an idiot. She is mad, so mad that you are going to run off and join the military because it had obviously turned out so well for your mother. Your heart aches when she says that, but you know it is only because she is upset and you pull her into a tight hug and promise to come home safe. She laughs- well more like barks- as she wipes her eyes and says your mother had said something similar once and you agree. You struggle to say goodbye, but she just stops you with another hug and an “I love you” and all the words melt on your tongue as you just nod lamely and climb onto the bus heading for basic.

 

.::~::.

 

You are twenty-two years old the first time you take another being’s life. It was at close range- a surprise attach that should have killed you- but instincts took over and you found your knife in your hands in one second and in its throat the next.

Blue blood stained your shaking hands and pools at your feet and you realize that if this is how your mother felt every time she killed an alien then you don’t blame her for signing up for tour after tour. You shoot through the ranks, gaining notability and prestige. But they still whisper behind your back, that you are “one of those Church girls”. You quickly learn to go by your mother’s maiden name.

You are around twenty-four when you meet him in a bar spewing dumb pickup lines and actually trying to get girls by claiming to be a ‘master lockpick’. You roll your eyes and try to enjoy your increasingly rare shore leave. He is all smirks and winks and his cocky attitude should have turned you off immediately, but when the aliens busted in and started shooting, he was one of the first to grab a gun and start fighting back.

It is not long before you go from sharing smokes and food to secrets and bunks. He follows you like a lost puppy, which you think is cute at first by you quickly grow more than just fond of him.

When the Major approaches you about a new project she would like to recommend you for, you say yes, but only if he comes too.

 

.::~::.

 

You forget how old you are exactly when you see him again. A number age doesn’t have the same meaning when you are traveling at light speed and counting years by alien rotations. All you can remember is that you both look a lot older than the last time you saw each other. All you can think is how... different he looks.

His green eyes no longer hold the same life they once did. His hair- which was pitch black the last time you were home- is now peppered with gray, and his temples are already there. He does not react when he meets you the first time, and you wonder if he even recognizes you.

Maybe he was just too busy addressing you and the other solders, a small group of elite fighters chosen for their skills just like you.

You are once again grateful you no longer go by his name.  

He goes on in his speech, talking about how they were the best of the best and that if they did well and followed instructions that they might very well stop the whole war. He falters in his well-rehearsed speech just once, when he makes eye contact with you. You know for sure that he has seen you now, but he continues on with only the slightest of pauses. Everyone cheers and claps and in the end and he dismisses them and calls out to you before you file out.

“Agent Carolina.” He says. You stop and turn slowly, still trying to adjust to that name, the one you didn’t even want but you now have because they said you couldn’t pick Texas so you chose the next best thing. “Please wait a moment.” Clin- no, Agent New York pauses by the door and gives up you sideways look but you motion for him to go on and he gives a small nod before continuing.

“Father-“ You start but are quickly quieted with a raised hand.

“Sir.”

“...What?”

“You can address me as Sir, _Agent_.” He glances at you over the rim of his glasses and you feel like a little girl again. You find yourself standing straighter and your heels being pulled together.

“Sir,” You raise your chin and look ahead confidently. “Did you need something from me?”

“Only assurance that your personal relationships will not interfere with your performance.” He was glancing at a tablet, lazily flipping between pages with a flick of his finger.

“...Sir?” You start clinching your fists, but you don’t know why. Maybe it was the way he refused to look at you. Or how he seemed so bored, like seeing his daughter for the first time in a over decade was a hindrance on his work.

“I want you to know that we do not pick favorites here at Project Freelancer. No one agent is given preference or special treatment over the other, no matter who their mother was.” He looks at you again, his eyes saying all that he needs to and you find yourself gritting your teeth and nodding slowly. “Good. I still expect great things from you Agent Carolina. Welcome to Project Freelancer.”

And with that he turns and leaves you alone, blood pooling in your finger nails from how tightly you were holding your fists.

 

.::~::.

 

They tell you that you have been with the project for almost three years when the board goes up and all you can think is how much you want- no _need_ \- to be at the top.

You hear your teammates complaining that all this would do is make everything so much more competitive but you’re not worried. You know who your mother was and you have not fear that you will sit comfortably there, because who else was going to challenge you?

Some time passes before She appears and your world starts to crumble.

Later you will pinpoint that as the moment the secrets start, when everyone starts looking out for themselves and no one else. But more importantly that is when you lose hope in Him.

You tried so hard to be his perfect little soldier, doing everything to be the best, but it was never enough. Not for him. So he replaces you with someone and lets Her use the name that should have been yours. You begin hating that you chose his home state over hers but that name is so ingrained in your identity that you can’t even separate yourself from it anymore.

You are Agent Carolina, and the Director has replaced you.

.::~::.

 

You are a different person after the cliff.

You have stopped trusting and stopped caring and only one thing fuels you for years; revenge.

This is the time when you see more of your father in you than you would like to admit. You catch glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye every time you pass by a storefront window and when small children cower from your glare.

You are alone but not really lonely. You had two voice that were not your own in your head at once, screaming for attention, and you don't think you're every truly be lonely again. Some night you still wake up in a cold sweat before you remember where you are and that's a pretty good indication you need to move on. Any time you get comfortable enough in a place to dream that means you need to find somewhere new.

The war is over- no thanks to you- and no one has use for an ex-mercenary. So you travel from planet to planet trying to find him, or any indication that he still exists with no results. Slowly the flame in you dies and you start to remember a promise that was made years ago, when you hear of the death of two of your old teammates.

That same spark of vengeance awakes in you and you decide to pay this “Blood Gulch Crew” a visit.

 

.::~::.

 

You find him and it is not what you expected.

You expected him to be the same towering figure from your childhood, the one who did everything just to bring your mother back and instead kept failing. You know because you had to defeat hundreds of her just to get to him and once you were here all you found was a broken old man. My god, how old he seems as he watches the same video on repeat, over and over again.

All you can think is about how you don’t remember there being a camera there and you begin to wonder where he got the footage while Church is screaming at the top of his lungs about all the things your father as done wrong.

“Let go.” You tell him and you hesitate only a second when your father says that you were his greatest creation as you leave. Church is smart enough not to say anything about in the weeks when you ask him to play back the memory again.

“Let him go, Carolina.” He warns you as you see yourself becoming more like Him everyday, and you agree.

“You aren’t her.” Church adds as you stand up to continue looking into this business with the missing Freelancer tech.

“What?” You ask as Church projects himself in front of you.

“You aren’t her and I’m not him.” He repeats, looking at you in the eye with an intensity that runs in your family. “We’re better than them.”

“You’re right.” You say as you turn towards the setting sun, something pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re not gonna start crying, are you?” Church scoffs and you laugh, you actually laugh for the first time in a long, long time.

“No, Epsilon.” You chuckle affectionately as you slip your helmet back on. “Us Church kids are stronger than that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I burst into the RvB fandom with this sad fic that no one asked for. I just have a lot of headcanons about how Carolina grew up. I like to think that the Director wasn't always horrible, that at one time he did love her and that he was actually a good father because that makes everything with them in later season so much more painful. 
> 
> Oh well, hit me up on tumblr at http://leaving-a-comment.tumblr.com/ if you want to hear more sad headcanons about the Churches.


End file.
